


Chronicles of the Impossible

by she_who_dares



Series: Miz Crooke [5]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-13 03:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_dares/pseuds/she_who_dares
Summary: Cracker and Brooke are in a relationship, and it seems like everyone knows it - except them.This is the story of how they worked it out.





	1. Five Small Realisations: Cracker

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, courtesy of Saiph I had enough ideas for my rare pair that they said I might as well keep going. So I did. XD

**_Chronicles of the impossible; or, five small realisations (Part 1_ _- Cracker)_ **

 

_Realisation the first - Brooke’s domesticity_

  
  


Cracker had never anticipated being here. Not the literal here - in the small apartment in Nashville that Brooke called home - although that was kind of a mindfuck, considering they were now here together, alone. No, the strangeness he was contemplating was instead more about  _how_  they were here.

  
  


The last guy Brooke had brought home, he knew, was a one night stand - one of the quick hookups he’d had post-Vanjie - and their time here had started in a similar way. Invited to Brooke’s homecoming gig back at Play, the first time he’d been on stage there in months, Cracker had been able to truly relax and just enjoy watching his lover perform. And oh, could Brooke Lynn Hytes  _perform_.

  
  


They’d barely made it inside the door, pulling at each other’s clothes the second it shut, and would have ended up with Brooke attempting to fuck Cracker up against the wall were it not for a pair of inquisitive cats appearing and nearly tripping up the pair of them.

  
  


“Shit,” Brooke cursed, pulling up his loose jogging pants and trying to shoo Henry and Apollo towards the living room, ignoring Cracker’s giggling fit as he talked to the felines like they were his babies. “No, you’re staying out of the bedroom… you can meet him tomorrow, but right now, he’s busy…”

  
  


By the time he’d turned back, there’d been a trail of clothes leading towards the bedroom, and Brooke followed it with anticipation. The night that came after? Well, the triumphant feeling Brooke had on stage had followed him home, and the energy he still had made Cracker wonder if his wobbling knees were going to let him walk in the morning.  _Worth it, though_ , he thought. This man gave him everything - hands down the best sex he’d ever had - and the energy it took from him left him with the distinct need to sleep late the day after.

  
  


When Cracker eventually awoke, it was to the sound of a cheerful, laughing Brooke clearly in conversation with someone. The voice sounded female, but wasn’t one he recognised, so he decided to pull a change of clothes from his bag and slipped into something fresh, leaving the Canadian to his conversation while he went in search of coffee. He smiled at Brooke on his way to the kitchen, and Brooke smiled back, wishing him good morning before returning to his FaceTime. He’d taken no more than a few steps towards the coffee pot before the woman spoke again, and Cracker’s jaw dropped as he realised who he’d just been kind-of introduced to.

  
  


Brooke’s mom.

  
  


Oh shit.

  
  


"Who was that, honey?" he heard her voice ask, so sweet and genuine he could tell from the other room. "A… a friend? A boyfriend?" she asked, an undeniable note of curiosity and, dare he say it, hope creeping into her voice.

  
  


_Oh, shit._

  
  


Padding silently to the doorway in his bare feet, he watched his lover respond as he wrapped his hands around the freshly poured cup.

  
  


Brooke's face, mostly its usual self, still had one or two of its tells that all was not quite what it seemed. His nose wrinkled slightly as he flinched, almost as if trying to shrink back from the question, and his hand reached up towards his throat, subconsciously trying to cover the flush to his skin that was slowly creeping up his neck. "Aww, mom, no," he replied, determinedly trying to avoid looking at Cracker before he went to pieces. "He's a friend. A good friend," he added, a little too quickly to be truthful. His mother, however, didn't seem to buy it.

  
  


"Really? One who's at your place at this time in the morning?" she asked more pointedly, causing Brooke to lower his head to hide the smile that was beginning to grow on his face, lest it give the game away. The game being, Cracker thought, that things this was still just sex between them. That all they were was a pair of fuck buddies. “I know you better than that, baby.”

  
  


Cracker grinned. Mama Hytes was just too cute. She reminded him of his own mom, actually. And the fact that Brooke clearly cared about her and her opinion so much? He loved that - loved the fact that he was starting to see what the softer side of the Ice Queen looked like when he melted, as it were. And the look still on Brooke’s face when he turned to smile back at him? He was glowing with affection, for both people he was around right now. Indeed, the bitch was fucking radiant.

  
  


He was absolutely done for.

  
  


_Realisation the second - Brooke’s smile_

  
  


Cracker had touched down in LA a mere hour and a half ago, and already he was in a cab heading for a hotel with a suitcase at his side and a growing desire to retch burning at his throat. Was this the stupidest idea he’d ever had? Probably not, but it certainly ranked somewhere in the top ten. Its position in the chart depended on one thing - the reaction his lover had when he turned up to surprise him after his gig.  _Oh,_ _fuck_ _._  That wasn’t something you did for somebody who was just a friend, was it? Letting that thought run in circles around his mind as the LA landscape flew by in the cab window, Cracker’s mind turned to the last time they’d been together - both making an appearance at a charity event somewhere out in the midwest, the pair of them so busy that the cities had begun to merge together. It wasn’t like London, Paris, or any of the gigs on their earlier tour where their contact was limited to the few minutes they could grab together - rushed blowjobs in the dressing room; quick, breathy fucks in whatever space they could manage, even once exchanging handjobs immediately after coming off stage, literally unable to keep their hands off each other.

  
  


No, their last time had been very different.

  
  


It had been slow. Soft.

  
  


They’d made more of an effort to control their longing, carefully de-dragging and heading back to their hotel in separate cabs, affording them the opportunity to shower and shed the fog around their minds as well as the grime from their bodies. When Brooke had finally knocked on Cracker’s door, they hadn’t immediately torn at each other’s clothes or gone straight for a release. Instead, they’d lain together on the slightly too-small bed, arms wrapped around each other, the warm kisses making both men feel like they were blushing teenagers again and not grown men in their thirties.

  
  


When the intimacies had finally become more intense, and the clothing began to come off, it wasn’t the pressured, driven act of frantic lust that it had usually been. Rather, as soon as one of them had removed something, the other took their own sweet time, exploring the exposed skin with alternating touches from lips and hands. Taking it in turns, both men had found themselves under the covers as naked in their emotions as with their bodies, unashamedly enjoying the slow burn and the build up to the crescendo that they’d never yet allowed themselves to develop.

  
  


It had been a night to fuel his fantasies and imagination ever since.

  
  


A few hours later, and still thinking he must have been nuts to do this, Cracker had arrived back at the hotel, showered and changed, and was on his way into WeHo. Mickey’s was not a venue he’d frequented as often as some of his friends, being very much an NYC queen as well as a regular touring girl. However, he was still recognised enough by the staff and performing queens - as relatively anonymous as he was in his casual boy clothes - that he was allowed into the backstage area to go hang out with the girls who’d already been on, and those who hadn’t yet. A PA knocked on the dressing room door for him, and a wonderfully familiar voice told his visitor to enter. His lover’s back was turned to him, and their eyes met when the younger queen looked up in the mirror, in the middle of putting on an earring.

  
  


“Cracker?!”

  
  


Brooke’s face, fully done already, had stilled. Coral painted lips gaped and eyes that opened wide were framed by their usual lashes, the man who owned them touching his mouth, a picture of serenity.

  
  


The object of his affection watched him fondly, waiting, and mere moments later was rewarded with what he’d been looking for as Brooke turned around, almost painfully slowly. His eyes trailed over him, climbing up his small but muscular form - still tired from the long flight, with bags under the eyes and skin dull from lack of rest, when the blonde’s eyes found his, a smile spread across his face that seemingly put him at the centre of his universe.

  
  


Deliberately, measuredly, Brooke rose from his chair, the long yellow dress he wore making him look like a gorgeous statue made from sunshine. That statuesque figure drifted towards him, the enamoured expression reaching all the way to his eyes.

  
  


“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered, putting his hands on either side of Cracker’s face. “You came all the way to LA?”

  
  


“From New York,” Cracker confirmed, his voice cracking a little in disbelief that this was going well, and that his plan hadn’t been a total disaster. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  
  


“Well, that definitely worked,” Brooke replied dryly, leaning down. If he’d been shorter, or Cracker had been taller, this would have been the moment for an embrace. Another moment of intimacy, perhaps, touching foreheads or noses for a moment as each contemplated the fact that the other was finally there, somewhere he could touch.

  
  


When their lips met, Cracker could have sworn he’d felt the fireworks enough for both of them.

  
  


_Realisation the third - Brooke’s performance_

  
  


They’d had to tear themselves apart after that, given that it was time for Brooke to go onstage. Allowed to watch from close by, but not so close that he’d be a distraction, Cracker slid into a booth and watched the next queen perform, before it was time for his own guy to come on.

  
  


It was definitely worth the wait.

  
  


He was lipsyncing to a mashup of Ariana Grande songs tonight - right in his wheelhouse - and it was clear from his body language how much he was enjoying it. The first number, a slow and sensual buildup, saw his body move languidly around the stage as his legs and dress flowed like water. Then, as the music changed to something more fast-paced, the fabric was torn away to reveal a bandage-style costume that glowed under the club’s lights, and if Cracker was honest, barely covered all of the important parts. He crossed his legs without thinking.

  
  


Watching Brooke Lynn perform was always revelatory, but tonight, there was an energy to his presentation that was nothing short of glorious. From the moment he’d walked out there playing a naive young woman in love, to the highly-sexed writhing around the stage he was doing after dropping into the splits right into his line of vision, the whole thing was mesmerising. And to tell the truth, when he looked right at him, trailing a finger seductively over his lips and right down over his chest, he couldn’t help but return a wry smile. Brooke was clearly returning the favour he’d been paid all those months ago in London, and the reference did not escape him.

  
  


The smile on Brooke’s face as he circled the stage was infectious and beautiful - it was as if he was sharing a particular secret moment of laughter with whoever he made eye contact with. The sheer joy of the performance, its exuberant display of his talent, made Cracker lean forward, unable to take his eyes from Brooke and his spirit. The silent sigh that escaped him then was a signal - a signal that the game the two of them were playing was changing, even though neither of them had noticed.

  
  


The desire he felt wasn’t purely carnal anymore.

  
  


_Realisation the fourth - Brooke’s friends_

  
  


It occurred to Cracker, as he arrived at the party, that for someone with such a very particular reputation, Brooke had one of the widest variety of friend types of anyone he’d ever met.

  
  


There were your Nina West types - the old friends from way back, the ones who provided the emotional support and the kick up the ass that his lover so sorely needed from time to time, without getting too much of a rise out of him. The queens who were the campy, mama bear types, loved by everybody, who you’d never peg as picking out people like Brooke to be their best friend.

  
  


There were your Gia Gunn types. The young, stunningly gorgeous queens who had the sharp tongues and sharper reputations - almost the complete antithesis of the Ninas of this world. The types that would have driven Cracker absolutely bat shit crazy and want to slap somebody if there had been too many of them on his season of Drag Race (and the types that made him respect Bianca del Rio all the more for not doing so). Still, Brooke liked her, and that had to be good enough for him.

  
  


There were your Vanjies, too, of course. That one Cracker had to be able to understand, because he himself was a friend of the outgoing Puerto Rican queen. It was, of course, a weird subject between the two of them now, what with Vanjie being Brooke’s ex and Cracker still feeling guilty about messing around with Brooke in the first place. And while it was true that Vanjie hadn’t given them his blessing, so to speak (there was nothing between them yet that needed it, nope), at least he wasn’t hostile. As long as the two of them didn’t rub things in his face, they were at a stage where things would be OK. And to have Vanjie’s loyal, boisterous energy in their lives was certainly better than not having it at all.

  
  


Cracker entered the apartment - waving happily at a passing Kameron in greeting - and reflected on what all of this said about the man he’d chosen to spend so much of his time with. Each one of the people here thought Brooke was a likeable, fun person and above all, a loyal friend, hence the crowd of invitees in this little place he called home. It showed a kindness that belied his Ice Queen image, open-mindedness that did him credit and a generosity of spirit that made his heart swell three sizes whenever he looked at the younger man.

  
  


“Hey, boo,” he heard behind him, the familiar Torontonian twang making Cracker smile before he even turned around. Brooke’s hug - full of warmth, that smelled of his shirt’s fabric softener and the cigarette he’d smoked earlier - was a heartfelt embrace. It was a simple, everyday gesture that still, somehow, felt reckless, new and brilliant. It was quite the step for two overthinkers such as themselves.

 

  
_Realisation the fifth - Brooke’s panic attack_

  
  


One in another series of firsts, this definitely unwelcome event was one that had completely sideswiped Cracker. He hadn't seen it coming.

  
  


Their evening in NYC had been coming to a close in perfectly lovely fashion; for once, an evening that had absolutely nothing to do with drag or either of their circles of friends. Cracker had been reflecting on just how good for them it was to just spend an evening at dinner, not just shooting the breeze but really talking - although it was suspiciously like an actual date - when they'd decided to call it a night and get an Uber back to Cracker's place.

  
  


Waiting outside for the car had given them a bit of time, and a slightly tipsy Cracker wanted to use it for all it was worth. He’d stood up on tiptoes to kiss his guy senseless, and there they were, making out in the streets like horny teenagers, when he was shaken out of his reverie by the man in his arms suddenly tensing, and talking over the top of his head.

  
  


“Fuck…”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


Cracker turned his head to follow Brooke’s line of vision when he saw what the taller man was worried about - a couple of guys exiting the bar down the street, one of whom who was definitely using their drag names in excited conversation, flailing arms gesticulating in a drunken manner, pointing towards them both.

  
  


“Oh, fuck…”

  
  


Letting go of each other and separating before either of the other men could get out their phones in the manner of amateur paparazzi, Cracker could practically sense his lover getting twitchy. Thank heaven that, in what was a blessed coincidence, their car pulled up at that point and the pair of them were whisked away before the accidental voyeurs had too much time to process. It was more of a relief, Cracker realised, when he saw the look on Brooke’s face as the car whisked them through the NYC streets.

  
  


Back at his tiny apartment in Harlem, Cracker was practically carrying the Canadian through the door, supporting him as his breathing became more erratic and his body less stable. Cracker knew that Brooke had his difficulties - just like him, had a tendency to get in his head and let the negativity take over - but they’d never yet really been close enough for long enough to experience it in each other. He just about managed to lead him towards the couch, sitting him down and taking his face in his hands.

  
  


“Stay with me, OK?”

  
  


Brooke nodded, but could do little else.

  
  


“I’m going to help you breathe through it.” He took one of Brooke’s strong hands, holding it gently between his own. “First, five things you can see, OK?”

  
  


It was an old technique, hardly innovative, but it almost literally brought a sufferer back down to earth in the middle of an attack - something Cracker had to use on himself more than once. Brooke, however, definitely seemed like he’d needed the help, if his heavy breathing and partially closed eyes were anything to go by. Cracker didn’t push it, though. He knew time was not a luxury, but a necessity, in this case.

  
  


“Um… OK… the blue of your shirt. The brown of your eyes, and hair,” Brooke began, apparently one to go by colours. Funny, Cracker thought. So was he. “Um, the grey of the couch. The red of that painting on the wall… and your lips, they’re pink, I guess…”

  
  


Not too far there, yet, but better than nothing, he supposed. Brooke was talking, now, and able to look at him if he mentioned his face. Cracker reached up, slid off Brooke’s jacket and his own, so they could both get more comfortable, and continued. “Four things you can touch… go on…”

  
  


Brooke’s breathing, still heavy, was at least a little slower now, and he took fewer pauses. “Your shirt… it’s soft. The couch… we’re sinking in… your jeans… they’re rougher… and your skin… you’ve gone cold…”

  
  


It was no surprise, really, Cracker told himself. He’d felt like his blood was running colder as soon as he’d realised Brooke’s predicament… but there they were. “OK, good, you’re doing well,” he said soothingly, reaching over to rub Brooke’s back. “When you’re ready, three things you can hear.”

  
  


Brooke’s breathing was longer and slower now, and Cracker instinctively reached up to cradle the back of his head as his lover clutched the back of his shirt in his fist, head resting on his shoulder. “The traffic outside. There’s a lot of car horns,” he said, the feeling of his breath tickling Cracker’s neck. “The sound of your breathing. And your heartbeat.” Cracker wasn’t sure that the last one counted, but he didn’t have the heart to point that out.

  
  


“Two things you can smell, then. Go on.”

  
  


“Your cologne. And your sweat.”

  
  


Cracker couldn’t help but chuckle then, cradling the taller man in his arms. The bluntness of the reply was pretty funny, and he couldn’t hold it against him… especially as he’d definitely felt the cool sweat running down the back of his neck as he’d wrestled Brooke to the couch. Poor thing.

  
  


“And the last one, babe. C’mon…”

  
  


“Taste…” Brooke paused, tilting his face down a little, licking his tongue across Cracker’s bottom lip, ever so gently, as the smaller queen held his wrist to feel the heartbeat coming in at a more normal pace. A smile drew itself across Cracker’s face as he stayed there, letting Brooke use him for his own comfort, which was good for both of them, really.

  
  


They stayed with limbs entwined on the couch for god knows how long after that, Cracker lying back on the couch with Brooke curled into him. It was peaceful, being like this, and it gave both men time to think. If tonight had proved anything, it was that they understood each other on a level that even they didn’t quite understand. He’d been willing to take the relationship a little further than they’d been enjoying for a while now, but tonight had meant that the pair of them were forced to reflect on how much they trusted each other. Cracker thought back to how they’d started, out of something stupid at first, then been drawn to each other regardless. Now, he knew that they saw the true beauty of each other, far beyond the surface he could see.

  
  


He was in love.


	2. Part 2 - Brooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Brooke is having similar reflections to Cracker, and makes a final admission to Nina...

_Realisation the first - Cracker, Henry and Apollo_

  
  


The afternoon after that early morning phone call between Brooke and his mom was the first time Cracker had the opportunity to hang out with the beings he considered his children - his cats. Brooke himself had gone for a shower, and his lover had taken the time to unpack; given that he was going to spend a few days here, and he was particular about his stuff, Cracker was keen to make sure he didn’t make more work for himself on getting back to New York by letting everything get trashed.

  
  


His problem, however, was that his lover’s babies had had other ideas. He’d laid out his clothes, ready to refold and place them back into the drawers Brooke had arranged for him, and had decided to go grab a drink. Not more than thirty seconds had he been out of the room, grabbing a soda, when he returned to find that his favourite black turtleneck had won itself a pair of new fans - Henry and Apollo, curled up on its soft surface. “I can’t believe you walked right past everything else to make yourselves comfortable on that!” he gasped, wondering how on earth he was going to negotiate getting his turtleneck back in a reasonable state without truly pissing off the human who loved these adorable, thieving little assholes.

  
  


When Brooke returned from the shower, it was his turn to watch his lover from the doorway into the living room. With a towel wrapped around his waist and a fond smile on his face, his gaze was fixed towards the smaller man on the couch. There was no denying it… Cracker spoke to the cats like they were tiny, furry, incredibly exasperating humans.

  
  


“Look, you guys, I know this sweater is comfortable. I like it too, that’s why I bought it,” he was saying, directly addressing the cats. Apollo was stretched out on the couch beside him, nonplussed and with his tail gently swishing, and Henry sat on the floor directly in front of him, sitting up straight with his head tilted, wondering why on earth the new human seemed to be waving around the new comfy thing he and his brother had discovered. It was an air of polite indifference, if such an expression could be read on a cat (and Brooke did).

  
  


“But really, I don’t live with cats, so I’m not used to getting hair off my clothes. I hope we can get along, here, because your human happens to be someone whose good side I want to stay on. Understood?” In response, he got a look of apathy from Apollo and an almost pitying mew from Henry, who approached the older man’s feet and stretched up his paws, standing on his hind legs, seeking pets. Cracker sighed and gave them to him, scritching the more outgoing feline behind the ears. “You three are going to be the end of me, you know that?” he lamented, almost jumping as he heard Brooke’s heavier steps pad over the wooden flooring towards them. “The fuck, Brooke? How did you sneak up on me?”

  
  


“Couldn’t help it. You scolding my cats over a turtleneck was just too cute,” he bantered back, kneeling down to kiss the New York queen. While Cracker almost blushed into the kiss, Brooke couldn’t help but feel his heart melt.

  
  


_Realisation the second - Cracker’s quick wit (on stage)_

  
  


While her gigs in New York had the celebratory tone of being on home turf, with the regular crowd at her usual bars and clubs just excited to see her, Cracker had mentioned to Brooke that making appearances elsewhere in the country was always slightly more intimidating. Fun, yes, but give the wrong sort of performance on the wrong sort of night, and your reputation in the region could certainly take a hit.

  
  


There were places where being known as a New York queen could be especially difficult no matter what sort of performer you were. Since Season 6, every single season of Drag Race had had a New York girl in the final, and the city’s queens had even taken three in a row - her own drag mother being one of those. There were plenty of queens - and even fans - who would be quite happy to see the NYC girls taken down a peg or two.

  
  


So it was that Cracker was on stage, midway through her set, and Brooke was completely impressed with how his lover was working the crowd. Every so often she’d take a little walk along the stage, directing a different part of her story to a different group of people, giving them that little moment of closeness with the queen they’d been excited to see. It was beautifully done, really, Brooke thought. It gave different parts of the audience their moment of feeling like they had her attention, and at the same time, made her look like she was at home here as she was back in NYC, commanding the stage like she owned it. It reminded her of Cracker in London, actually, around the time they first became… well, whatever they’d become.

  
  


Brooke was laughing, almost uncontrollably so, at the story she was telling about the time “her friend” was driving away from an ex’s house with a bag full of sex toys. He’d heard it before, at least three times, and knew the punchline off by heart. There was something about the way Cracker told it though - tweaking it slightly for each audience she told it to - that made sure it was still hilarious every time. And the way she stood there, in the bright turquoise leotard, big Barbie hair and her hand on her hip like she was totally done with everything? He found it hysterical.

  
  


Only now, he could see from the slight change in her facial expression that she actually WAS done with everything, and his eyes followed her gaze out into the crowd. Some guy, sitting there with an incredibly embarrassed looking girlfriend, had wobbled to his feet, cupped his hand around his mouth and was attempting to yell, interrupting Cracker’s set. Cracker, Brooke and the girlfriend were not the only people who were starting to get pissed off, but the performer in Brooke noticed Cracker’s response - a steady set to the hips, holding firm, and a smooth tone to her voice that was as cold as steel.

  
  


“Sorry, dude, I don’t understand a word you’re saying. I don’t have a filter for drunk idiots.”

  
  


The audience tittered, one or two clapping in support.

  
  


Brooke didn’t quite hear the next thing the guy yelled, but knew it must have been a low blow about appearance when Cracker quirked her brow and raised her hand higher on her hip, pushing them back and tits out as she spoke to the rest of the audience - who, it could be noticed, was a good three fifths female and female presenting. “And yet,” Cracker began, “even your own damn girlfriend is looking at me more than you right now. And the lesbians would definitely rather have me than a guy who looks like he usually spends a weekend crying over his shitty fantasy football picks, letting Cheeto crumbs fall into his pants.” The heckler visibly shrank back, almost purple in embarrassment as the people around him literally pointed and laughed, some even pulling out their phones to record the interaction. The whole thing would probably be on YouTube before the morning. “That’s right, dude. Go sit in the corner and finish evolving.” A huge roar went up from the crowd, and Cracker took a step or two back before continuing her set, allowing herself a moment to soak up the acclaim.

  
  


Brooke almost shook his head in admiration, a smile spreading across his face. Somehow, this quick-thinking, pocket-sized powerhouse was interested in him?

  
  


He would definitely have to show his appreciation later.

  
  


_Realisation the third - Cracker’s quick wit (off-stage)_

  
  


It was May, quite late on, and the four of them were gathered for brunch in LA right before the insanity of the Drag Race end-season began. Brooke was a strange mix of tense and relaxed, knowing just how much was coming and the potential fall-out of both. There was the soon-to-air reunion, of course, and mere days ago they’d filmed the episode in which the fans would finally find out about just how over the whole Branjie thing was. It was certainly not something he was looking forward to, more for the resurrection of their own hurt and pain over the whole relationship than for a real fear about what people might say. He was cold, the Ice Queen… he could handle that. Right?

  
  


The one thing - or person, he should say - who was giving him doubts about his ability to breeze through this was sitting opposite him at the table, sharing raucous laughter with Monet about something his sister had said. Nina, ever the mom friend, had turned to look at him, bringing Brooke back into the conversation with a little wave to catch his attention. He was soon brought out of his thoughts, and his focus was brought back to a shorter, dark-haired man who managed to command the group’s attention despite being easily the most delicate and diminutive looking queen there. The Canadian was starting to feel things for him that he hadn’t felt since he’d broken up with Vanjie months ago - and what scared him was how much this didn’t scare him. Not this time. But the thought of what the next few weeks would stir up, and how he would have to keep his feelings squashed again… it hurt. It made him feel like he wanted to lash out and tell the world anyway, public perception be damned.

  
  


Now that, that was new.

  
  


Nina had asked Cracker and Monet a question about how things had been the year before, when the girls had been thrown straight into their own tour after the drama that had been stirred up at their own reunion. When the Aquaria vs Cracker storyline hadn’t produced quite what the show wanted, the reunion episode had had quite a bitter moment when Asia’s words in the Evil Twin challenge were brought up, causing the girls to relive some memories they’d already worked past or, in some cases, buried. It gave Brooke some hope, seeing the friends here now, that whatever trouble would be stirred for the Season 11 queens, they too would be able to work it out.

  
  


It had worked out so well, in fact, that Cracker was now recounting a story about how she, Monet, Asia, Kameron, Dusty, Blair, Vixen and Yuhua had been in bunks on the same bus, and the small space the eight of them were crammed into had resulted in Asia being fed up at the thought of climbing up and down every time. So fed up, in fact, that she’d ended up gathering a bunch of stuff at the end of the bunk, “like something out of Hoarders, bitch!” and accidentally outed some of her personal preferences in a very late night phone call home to her man. 

  
  


The imitations that followed, somehow spot-on and satirical at the same damn time, had Brooke in stitches to the point of almost hurting himself. There was something about Cracker’s quick wit - its hyper intelligence, pin-point accuracy and ability to jab whoever was necessary (including himself) that Brooke really admired in his lover. There was enough to draw him there, holding him to the older queen like a pair of magnets, even without all of this. But the laughter and sheer glee of the late morning in the LA sunshine, shared platters slowly being demolished as the levels in the wine bottles got lower and lower, that held an allure all of its own. His eyes were fixed in one direction in particular, and he didn’t feel like hiding it anymore.

  
  


_Realisation the fourth - activism and dedication_

  
  


A month later, and around three after the two queens had first become a thing, Brooke and Cracker were in another small café, this time in NYC, spending the day together before the rest of Pride month meant that things became more busy for the pair of them. Brooke, as runner up in the most recent season of Drag Race, was a man in high demand. Cracker, though the news wasn’t public yet, was about to head off to film All Stars 5. The fact that a busy, working queen was going to be MIA during the busiest month of the year would not go unnoticed, and would essentially confirm many fans’ predictions.

  
  


Their lives, in short, were about to go crazy. Crazier than things usually were once you became a Ru Girl, at any rate.

  
  


It also meant, of course, that they were going to see nothing of each other for weeks, hence this lunch date.

  
  


Cracker, however, had spent a whole quarter hour of their meeting on the phone, apologising profusely for the apparent need to accept the call. As soon as he’d answered, he began almost immediately talking in another language, one that Brooke didn’t recognise. He knew it wasn’t French, obviously, and recognised enough of the odd Hebrew word he’d heard in his lover’s company that it wasn’t that, either. He must have looked confused, though, because when the person on the other end of the call put him on hold - seemingly as they looked for information - Cracker met his eyes. “Wolof,” he said succinctly. “I’m talking to people I used to work with in Senegal.”

  
  


_Of course_ , Brooke thought, his own eyes closing as Cracker began speaking again. Now things started to fall into place. He knew that, like his mom, Cracker had grown into an adult working in an artistic field. One of his last jobs before going into drag full time had been working in various New York galleries, specialising in dealings of West African pieces, which had meant he needed to travel a lot. Of course, being openly gay in many parts of the continent was still a huge risk, and ever since, Cracker had links with groups in various places campaigning for human rights victories. Now, as it was Pride in the US, it made sense for him to be in touch. 

 

It was something oddly beautiful to witness, too. Brooke didn’t have to speak a word of Wolof to know that the subject of the conversation was something of great excitement to Cracker and his friend, the American waving his free hand wildly in the air as his eyes had an undeniable sparkle to them. Brooke couldn’t bear to interrupt, or even signal his interest to him lest he be a distraction, and so he decided to watch him instead. His own smile became just visible over the top of his coffee cup.

  
  


Along with so many things he’d reflected on of late, this was one more thing that Brooke was growing to love -  _no, not that word_ , he told himself, not allowing even the tiniest bit of the thought to sneak through - about the New Yorker sitting in front of him. He was someone so spirited, so passionate, so dedicated to the causes he believed in, that it was impossible for Brooke to believe he didn’t mean every single word and action of his activism.

  
  


It made his own heart swell just thinking about it.

  
  


When his lover had hung up on the call, Brooke reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently and with admiration written all over his face. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, quickly leaning over the table to give the smaller man a kiss.

  
  


The time it took for them to leave cash on the table and head back to Cracker’s place took longer than the phone call, but as they later lay curled up in each other’s arms, both men considered it worth it.

  
  


_Realisation the fifth - three little words_

  
  


It had been weeks, but felt more like months, since Brooke and Cracker had had their lunch date in NYC. A few days later, Brooke’s lover had flown to LA to film All Stars 5, and the cycle of their being caught in the maelstrom of Drag Race began again. It was different being the one on the outside, knowing that your loved one was going through the intense competition process and you had no way of reaching them. On more than one lonely night, Brooke found himself going through old texts, pictures and videos they’d taken together in the last few months - sometimes using them to help reach his own pleasure, other times scrolling through the sweeter ones and sleeping curled up in a ball, his phone still in hand. 

  
  


What he hadn’t yet been willing to acknowledge to himself was just how much the other man meant to him, but that denial couldn’t last forever. It all came to a head when, on a night out with Nina, he turned down the advances of no fewer than three separate guys who’d sidled up to him at the bar, batting their eyes and slinking away disappointed within minutes. There was a different vibe to Brooke now, and it wasn’t hard to see it. When a fourth approached, and Brooke simply got up and walked away, Nina had to say something - linking an arm through his, and walking him swiftly to one of the booths, his eyes flicking left and right before speaking.

  
  


“Something’s different. Spill.”

  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nina.”

  
  


“Bullshit!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly as some nearby clubgoers turned their heads in surprise. Sheepishly, Nina lowered his head to continue. “You’ve had men crawling all over you, all night. You haven’t even looked at any of them, let alone taken your pick of the hottest and had someone to kick out of bed in the morning. Like I said, something’s different.”

  
  


Brooke winced. Nina’s assessment of his love life, although brutal, was painfully accurate. His best friend of nearly a decade, there wasn’t much he could hide from him, and he looked up resignedly with the intent of telling him everything. This, to Nina’s surprise, he did. He started with stories, the little moments he’d had with his American lover - the time they’d spent together on tour, the times they’d had surprising each other at gigs, even the way Cracker’s face looked while he was telling jokes. There was a way his nose wrinkled upwards and his mouth hung open, almost barking with laughter, and it was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.

  
  


In turn, Nina listened, and smiled. It wasn’t Brooke being happy again that made him react this way, but the fact he was opening up. He’d always been so closed off, emotionally speaking - arguably one of the main reasons he’d never had a successful relationship before - and now here he was. Thirty-three years old, and finally being able to admit to his best friend, without shame or hesitation, the feelings that someone new was causing him to feel. It was revelatory, really. When Brooke finally admitted why he hadn’t taken anyone home that night - because none of them were a certain dainty, dark-haired and eyed Jewish-American queen that he was slowly becoming hooked on - Nina held Brooke’s gaze and grinned, maintaining the connection as he spoke.

  
  


“You know what this means, don’t you?”

  
  


“...yes,” Brooke admitted, though not yet willing to say the words.

  
  


“You love him.”

  
  


It was factual, credible, and totally without judgement.

  
  


Brooke nodded.


End file.
